Relight
by Goldfishing
Summary: What happens when you take the plot of Twilight and change the characters? A lot more intrigue, and a lot less whining. Meet Cassandra Reed, Bella's sarcastic replacement; Simon Lawrence, Edward's bad-boy counterpart; and Connor Hawkins, the Jacob with quite a surprise in store for everyone. Not to mention the Lawrence family's dark side. Look out people - here comes Relight.
1. Preface

The bastard was smiling at me. It was appropriate, of course, considering his side of things, but from my perspective it was grotesque. In all my daydreams involving death the killer had never been smiling like that. He'd been destroyed with agony, consumed with fire and self-loathing, or at worst unemotional. But never happy.

Call it denial. My death, which had become a topic of conversation as well as elaborate fantasy these past months, should not be a happy occasion. As a self-preserving human my brain rejected death, and so no part of those visions were positive. But now, faced with the inevitable, murdered by a stranger, there was a smile.

Maybe he wasn't the only one. I should be happy, too, that I was about to die. It was for a good cause, for someone I loved. My death would save another's life. Surely that should give me some sort of wrenched, perverse joy.

But all I felt was terror as that smile walked steadily forward to kill me.

* * *

**I simply couldn't resist. ;) Review, I review back.**

**-Goldfishing**


	2. First Sight

We drove with the windows rolled down, letting the dry Arizona breeze fill the car. It was a beautiful day in Phoenix, like so many we had, and with my arm draped out the window to catch the last rays of sunlight I knew I'd miss this. I'd miss the sun beating down on my skin, warm breezes teasing my hair, the soft dust that coated everything with a peculiarly clean smell. Hot days followed by warm nights where you could sit on the porch and talk beneath the stars.

I sighed as we pulled into the airport. My mother heard and looked at me before turning off the engine. "Cass, you don't have to go, you know."

Of course I had to go. We'd bought the tickets, I'd packed, we were here, and my father was waiting for me. Forks might be hell on earth, but I was going. Leaving this beautiful desert for the constant downpour of the Olympic Peninsula, humidity which was sure to do wonders for my hair, and vast, moss-covered forests. Everything about Forks was dreary and lifeless to me, despite the abundance of green. My mother had prudently abandoned the place with me when I was three months old. And now, here I was, seventeen years later, going back to my origins; essentially undoing what she'd done.

Every summer I'd traveled to Forks to stay with my father, Henry. Over those three month intervals I'd developed mt distaste for Forks, quickly replaced by loathing, which has persisted until this very day.

She said it again at the gate. "Cassie, if you want to stay, it's all right."

I couldn't help rolling my eyes. If I hadn't changed my mind in the month since I'd made this decision, I probably wasn't going to now. All the reasoning and half-hearted pleading from my mother hadn't been enough. She'd have to let me go in a year anyway, for college, and there was no reason to spend that year letting Jack go travel-happy while she waited for me to leave. "Mom, I'm going."

Whoops. That came out wrong. She bit her lip and nodded, but her pain wasn't entirely sincere. In fact, she was almost grateful. She wanted me to go. She hugged me, gave a quick goodbye, and practically shoved me onto the plane.

A half hour later, Phoenix was out of sight. I spent the four hour plane ride watching the desert change to mountains beneath me. When we flew through clouds I flipped half-heartedly through a book, just trying to keep things off my mind. It didn't work very well. My wandering mind kept conjuring up images of ceaseless thunderstorms, and some irrational part of me kept screaming that I'd never see the sun again. I told it to shut up and fought back with rainbows.

Dad picked me up from the airport in his police cruiser. My father is chief of police in Forks. It goes without saying, then, that he drives the cop car everywhere. I swear, he gets some kind of childish delight from the whole thing. He'd promised to help me get my own car so I wouldn't have to ride around with red and blue lights on the roof. Truth be told, I was rather desperate. Being driven around by my father in such an ostentatiously unrebellious vehicle was a less than ideal circumstance for the new kid in town.

And that's exactly what I'd be. In this town of three thousand, with a high school not reaching four hundred, I was bound to be the new kid for at least a month. Probably more, with my luck.

I grinned at my father as he came around the car to greet me. "It's good to have you home, Cass."

Home was a thousand miles away. "Hey Dad, I missed you." While my stunning good looks came from my mother, my personality is my father's. Sarcastic, quiet, content bookworm type. Neither of us were conversationalists, so we'd lead a quiet life, much as we had every summer. I'd find something to read, he'd watch TV. Idle conversation at mealtimes to fill the silence. Our pattern was set in stone before I stepped off the plane.

For Henry, it would be easy. He'd lived by himself since Mom ran out on him. But I'd lived with Mom. Her chatter had been the music to my existence.

"How's Meredith?"

I shrugged. "She's doing good."

"Is she happy?"

He meant Jack, of course. "Yeah. She is." I hadn't seen her so crazy about someone in years.

He grunted and hugged me awkwardly. I helped him put my stuff in the trunk then slid into the familiar front seat of the cruiser. We made small talk on the drive to Forks; the weather, how he'd gotten me registered for school, how I was a bit nervous about school, how he thought he'd found me a car, the most recent arrests. Even as I wanted to linger on the subject of my car, he dived into talking shop, and for the last half hour I tuned out.

It was drizzling when we pulled up, giving the air a heavy, fertile feel. I could feel my curly brown hair frizzing out already. There was an unfamiliar vehicle parked out front, and Dad grinned as I looked at it questioningly.

"What do you think?"

It was a truck. An old one, massive, with faded red paint and rust spots. The bumper was dented inward slightly, indicative of some long-forgotten collision that it won with ease. The more I stared at it, the more indestructible it looked. My jaw dropped slightly. "Dad, is this mine?"

He nodded. "Bought it off old Frank Hawkins."

My head moved up and down slowly. Dad's best friend, Frank. His son, Connor, had kept me company during my long summers here. We were a mismatched group, but it kept my mind off the rain.

Quickly my thoughts drifted back to the truck, looming in front of me like an enormous brick. "Dad, you didn't have to, I was going to get a job, and-"

But he cut me off. "Too late, kid. It's yours."

A smile spread slowly across my face. Maybe this move wouldn't be so bad after all. I got out of the cruiser to get a closer look, Dad right behind me, grinning like an imbecile. After a full circle inspection I opened the door and hopped in. It felt like sitting in a tank. A red one. With absolutely horrible gas mileage, which I didn't mention to my father, because he looked too happy for me to ruin it.

While my first impulse was to get the keys and drive the thing around the block a few times, I had unpacking to do, so, reluctantly, I left the beautiful machine to its rusting and turned to the house.

It was your basic two story structure, with faded, peeling whitewash and an uneven path to the door. Inside wasn't much different. Pale walls, blue carpet and absolutely tiny. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen that doubled as a dining room, and a family room that barely fit the couch and TV. My parents, when they bought it as newlyweds, could only afford spartan furniture, and after Mom walked out Dad never upgraded. Every school picture of mine lined the narrow hallway upstairs, gracefully displaying my journey through life, braces and all.

My room faced the front yard, and hadn't changed a whole lot more than the rest of the house. Blue walls, small closet, a chest of drawers. The only difference between seventeen years ago and now was a bed instead of a crib, and the addition of a desk with the computer Mom had insisted on buying me. I dropped my suitcase on the bed and looked for cobwebs.

Dad hovered awkwardly in the doorway until I gave him an encouraging smile. No, I wasn't going to freak out on him about all this. Forks may be the most detestable location on the planet, but I'd come of my own free will, and I was going to make the best of it.

Besides, he'd bought me a car. That particular high was bound to last at least three days.

With Dad downstairs making dinner I was left to myself. It was a relief. Now I could get my moping out before tomorrow, my first day of school.

School. The word had been a curse from the beginning. As a shy, sarcastic, average-looking girl, school had never been the best place for me. That required some level of social skills. As I'd never been the friendly type, I'd never had many friends. I didn't need them, really; I was fine by myself. I'd read and spend time with my mother. The few friends I'd managed to hold onto were like me. We had no trouble leaving each other behind for this. It was coming anyway, when we went to college, so why make a fuss over it?

But that was different. This town was as big as my high school had been, and with a high school here that was a tenth of that the social atmosphere was bound to be wildly different.

For one, I'd be news. Back in Phoenix a new kid was quickly integrated into the culture. They melted away within the week. But here that would be difficult; everyone knows everyone. There is none of the relative anonymity I enjoyed. I would be a rarity, a point of interest, a spectacle. The center of attention.

When you look like me, you're never the center of attention. I was average-height with a mass of untamable curly brown hair. At the moment my skin was tan from desert life, but a few months under these clouds would fix that. Like my mother before me, I can be best described as a beanpole. It's often been remarked that given more hair I'd topple over from the weight of it. My limbs are a bit too long for the rest of me, so I'm gangly rather than graceful, awkward instead of athletic. My face was always nice enough, but I'd never turn heads. Until now.

I was absolutely unprepared for it. Frankly, attention scared me. The most I'd been given was from my mother. I was comfortable as a side character, as the quiet, lanky girl with too much hair. This would be overwhelming. People asking me awkward questions with even more awkward answers; people giving directions, advice, instruction, all unasked for. My head was sure to explode after tomorrow from overstimulation. My poor father would have to deal with his mentally weakened daughter for a while, until I got used to it or they got used to me.

After dinner we watched TV together for a bit. At nine I gave up, thanked him again for the car, bid him goodnight, and crawled into bed, trying to mentally prepare myself for the onslaught.

Sleep was fitful at best. Rain had pounded on the roof all night, keeping me awake until god knows when. Every time I did manage to drift off I had nightmares of drowning in puddles.

Great way to begin the day.

Dad was gone when I woke up. He had to be at the station early every morning, so I could count on that alone time, at least. I rummaged through the understocked kitchen until I stumbled across cereal, but I could hardly stomach it. I'd worked myself up into an absolute nervous wreck; detested town, new school, new people. Three hours sleep was just the icing on the cake.

I showered, gave up on my hair and put it in a massive, bushy ponytail, dressed in the most nondescript clothing I owned, grabbed my keys from a hook by the door and headed out to conquer life one step at a time, beginning with my 'new' truck.

It looked even more formidable this morning. I wasn't sure who should be more afraid: me, or everyone else on the roads. The thing would come out unscathed from nearly any accident, but I'd never driven a truck before.

It could have been worse. The roar of the engine was deafening at first, but by the time I pulled into the high school I'd grown used to the noise and the bulk. Suddenly I had to get out, go into the main office, and get my schedule, but the cab of the truck felt so safe, I was reluctant to move.

I took a deep breath, flicked my hood up, and forced myself to climb down from the truck. I dragged my fingers fondly along the bed as I passed. The rest of the cars in the lot were, thankfully, nearly as run-down as my own. Nothing like good old Phoenix, where every other kid drove a something shiny in my neighborhood. Everything here was old, clunky, and almost well maintained.

Except for that absolutely gorgeous white Ducati parked in the near corner. Oh sweet Jesus, I nearly started drooling over that motorcycle. Next to it was a sleek Gray Porsche with a soft-top convertible. It looked too expensive and beautiful to exist. On the other side was a black Audi R8. While motor vehicles had never been a particular fascination of mine, Jackcould certainly go on for hours, and it's hard not to pick up on a few things. Like when someone has fantastic taste in them. Whoever these people were, in this tiny town, with these amazing things, deserved at least a compliment in good taste.

Especially whoever owned that motorcycle.

Reluctantly, I tore my eyes away from the shining glory of the front right corner, and stepped into the front office to meet my doom.

Doom took the form of a sweet-looking receptionist who smiled brightly at me as I sulked into the room. "You must be Cassandra Reed! Your father said you'd be in this morning. I've got your schedule right here, dearie." She slid a piece of paper across the desk to me. "And here's a map. It won't take you too long to figure out, I'm sure." Another piece of paper. My attempt at a polite smile came across as a grimace, which only made the secretary's smile sweeter. "Don't you worry, I'm sure you'll feel right at home in no time!"

This smile worked out better, and I slowly turned and walked back out into the milling students. About half of them noticed that I didn't belong, and they stared and whispered and pointed as they passed. I half sighed, half groaned and stuck my nose in the map to find my first class. After a good amount of wandering, I found it, and reluctantly entered.

The teacher, Mr. Martin, was a large old man with a cup of black coffee in front of him. I quickly introduced myself-"Oh! The chief's daughter!"-and he gave me a seat to the side of the room. Mr. Martin overloaded me with homework immediately. An essay due in a week on a short story, a reading list, and a study guide for a coming test. I tried, unsuccessfully, to hide my displeasure. It was all material I'd done last year in Phoenix. At least it would be easy, if repetitive.

Kids who were already seated craned their necks unashamedly to look at me, and the ones who walked in also stared openly. Whispering ensued among about half of them, along with pointing I could see from the corner of my eye. This was going to be a very long day. I adjusted myself so they didn't think I could see them and pretended to be engrossed in the assignments I'd been given.

"You're Cassandra Reed, right?" A boy's voice, quiet and shaking slightly. I looked up and nodded. "I'm Devon Baker."

I shook his extended hand and found it sweaty. He had unruly blond hair and a nervous, smiling face. "Cass." I corrected him.

"So, erm, you're from Arizona?"

"Phoenix."

"Really?" His eyes widened. "Wow, it must be weird coming here from such a big place."

I shrugged, looking away, hoping he'd stop talking to me. People were staring at us instead of at me. "Yeah, kind of."

Devon said something else, and I nodded slightly, holding a polite expression on my face, begging the bell to ring. Hopefully, it wouldn't take long for my new classmates to realize I wasn't that interesting. I knew books and the desert; beyond that, my life was painfully average.

Devon insisted on walking me to my next class, awkwardly asking questions and not knowing what to do with my one-word answers. It was an uncomfortable three minutes.

Essentially the same thing happened in my next few classes. Some brave soul decided to start a conversation and discovered that I wasn't conversational. In Spanish, a girl named Sophie either ignored or didn't notice my anti-social attitude, chattered in my ear the whole hour, and invited me to sit with her at lunch. I'd made my first friend.

The lunch room was small. Sophie's table consisted of mostly girls, with Devon from first hour and a brown-haired boy named Colin, who was also intrigued by me. A tall blond girl named Valerie seemed about as shy as me, and we exchanged hesitant smiles as we shook hands. As the group settled down into what seemed like a regular routine, I was left free to people-watch.

For the most part it was a normal high school lunchroom. Unassuming teenagers mingled, staring at me only occasionally. But there was one table that stuck out as... abnormal.

Their table was in the back corner of the room, close to the fire exit. There were three boys, all distinctly different. The largest one had the look of a bodybuilder, with biceps stretching the sleeves of his sweater. He must have been nearly seven feet tall. I could see that even though he was sitting down. His broad face was full of mischievous laughter as he talked to one of the girls. The second boy was only slightly smaller, with curly, golden hair tied back in a ponytail. His build was more that of a swimmer than the football player next to him, but with such a serious face I wondered who would win in a fight. The third boy was clearly the smallest of the three, with unkempt red hair that looked like fire against his pale skin. He was thin, lanky, built like a runner. He looked to be about my age, whereas his companions could have been in college. His face was calm, thoughtful, but somehow irritated at the same time.

The differences between the two girls were just as striking. The one by the bodybuilder had a body any girl in the room would kill for. Tall, perfectly curved and proportioned. Her long blond hair waved down her back and rippled like water when she moved her head. The other girl was tiny, smaller than me, with short, jet black hair that was so spiked it looked like a halo around her head.

Despite these differences, they were oddly similar. They were all paler than the whole school combined, and their eyes had a dark, almost haunted cast to them. Their faces were distinctly different as well, but they were all perfectly symmetrical, angular, identical in their perfection. Everything about them was beautiful, as if an artist had chosen to make statues of the ideal person and created these five specimens. It was hard to look away from that kind of thing, and I found myself trying to pick my favorite, as if they were pieces of candy on display. I was torn between the thin redhead boy and the glowing golden girl.

They were hardly speaking. The large boy and the blond girl spoke animatedly to each other, but the other three looked dreadfully bored. They didn't look at each other or make any attempt to join the conversation, they just sat there. Without warning the tiny, dark-haired girl stood, dumped her untouched lunch tray, and left, so quickly and gracefully that it looked rehearsed. None of the others seemed to have noticed.

I gently nudged Sophie out of her conversation. "Who are they?" I tried to keep my voice as quiet and incurious as possible, but the moment the words left my mouth the thin boy with fiery hair looked up at us. His face remained completely devoid of emotion as his eyes flashed from Sophie, to me, and back to his blank contemplation of the wall. I automatically looked away, pretending I hadn't seen him and wasn't talking about him.

Sophie giggled and tossed her hair, eyes still fixed on the one who'd looked at us. "That one is Simon Lawrence. The big one and the girl that just left are Brandon and Wren Lawrence, and the two blonds are Bethany and Josiah Parker."

"They're related?" The three Lawrence kids looked nothing alike. I could kind of see the blonds as siblings or cousins, Bethany the supermodel and Josiah the swimmer, but not the others.

"Well, not really." Sophie continued, finally tearing her eyes away from the disinterested Simon. "Those three were adopted by Dr. Lawrence and his wife. Bethany and Josiah are siblings though. Mrs. Lawrence is their aunt or something."

"Oh. That was nice of them."

She giggled. "It's weird, though, because they're all together. Bethany and Brandon, and Josiah and Wren. And they live in the same house!"

My eyebrows went up involuntarily. Yeah, that was a bit strange; from her tone, it was obvious that they were the subject of gossip among her friends. "What about Simon?" The youngest boy looked oddly alone now. He appeared to be muttering to himself, or his siblings, who had stopped talking.

Her expression immediately calmed. "He's not really the type."

"What?" So, was he gay, or just a recluse?

"Apparently, none of the girls here are good enough for him."

It took a reasonable amount of effort not to smirk at my new friend. I glanced back over at Simon, and his dark expression had lightened slightly. Almost as if he were smiling.

"They're all quite attractive." It seemed appropriate to continue the conversation with her. "Have they always lived here?"

She shook her head and returned to her lunch, obviously unwilling to talk about it anymore. "They moved here from Alaska two years ago."

Well, at least I wasn't the only one.

The four remaining left their table after a few more minutes, each one as graceful as the little one, Wren, had been. It was disconcerting to see these four beautiful people walk so casually through a room filled with average high school kids. They ignored the students entirely. There were a few stares from my peers, only slightly curious, but for the most part no one seemed to find them too interesting anymore.

Valerie walked with me to our fifth hour, Biology. She was as I expected from my first impression. About as shy as I was, but nice on a level beyond politeness. I found her to be absolutely endearing. She didn't ask me awkward questions about where I was from and why I was here, but seemed more interested in how my day was going. When we entered the classroom I parted from the first non-forced conversation I'd had all day and introduced myself to the teacher, Ms. Fleming.

The room was arranged with two people to a desk, and the single empty chair in the center of the room immediately caught my attention. To be more specific, the person occupying the other side of the desk caught my attention.

Simon Lawrence sat with his chin cupped in one hand, tracing circles on the desk with the other. His hair looked even more brilliantly crimson up close, and he ran his long, pale fingers through it constantly, like a strange tick. My seating assignment came as no surprise, and I walked to the empty seat confidently. At least I hoped I looked confident.

Simon verged on breathtaking up close. He had dark blue eyes that focused intensely on his circles without really seeing them. His face was perfectly smooth, with features that flowed into one another like a landscape. His thin mouth smiled subtly while the rest of his face seemed to be brooding, like some kind of living Mona Lisa. Given the chance, I could have stared for hours just looking for a flaw. He stopped his doodling to glance at me briefly. I flashed him a pained smile, the only kind I'd been able to manage on this glorious day, sat and pulled out a notebook for when class started.

It took a good portion of my self control not to keep looking over at him. Even then I slipped. I tried to pay attention and take notes, but it was material I'd been over already. He made no effort to take notes, or even pay attention from what I could tell. He just sat, stone-faced, staring blankly at the board. Once, halfway through the hour, he was looking at me when I glanced up. His piercing blue eyes locked onto my hazel, and for a moment he looked perplexed, then frustrated, angry, and suddenly indifferent. The change of emotion on his face was so fast that I didn't have time to get over the shock of him looking at me. His pose of paying attention had looked so solid, concrete, that I hadn't even considered him moving. Before I could process what had just happened, he was back in it, staring blankly at the board.

Those dark eyes were burned into my skull. I couldn't shake them from my vision for the rest of the hour, but I didn't dare look at him again. The split second Simon looked angry made me glad he hadn't introduced himself. That would have resulted in a conversation, and I might have said something to make him angry. There was something lurking beneath his strange, beautiful exterior, and while I was generally a curious person, it didn't seem prudent to find out what it was.

As soon as the bell rang he was out of his seat and gone out the door. I was left staring in shock after him. There had been no reason for him to run out the door like that, but after a moment I realized there was no real reason for him to stay either. I shrugged it off, stood, and gathered my books for my next class.

"Hey Cass, what do you have next?" Colin, the eager one from Sophie's lunch table, had been behind me the whole time. I blushed slightly, realizing that he must have seen me staring at Simon.

"Gym." Whoopie. Gym. The most useless class on the face of the planet; here, go pretend to exercise for an hour.

Colin's face brightened. "Hey, me too!"

I smiled at him, which he took as permission to walk with me the whole way. "So, what's up with that Simon kid?" I asked.

He shrugged. "He's kind of weird. Never talks to anyone or does anything in class."

"Why?"

"I don't know." Colin was clearly uncomfortable with the subject. "None of them do." As if that explained everything.

I nodded and let him change the subject. So he was always like that. Well, at least I wouldn't have to talk to him unless we had a lab. It'd be a nice break from the pestering of everyone else; the day was almost over, and the attention was beginning to wear on me. Listening to the same questions, repeating the same answers, trying to ignore the obvious stares. It got tiring after a while. All I wanted to do was get back to the house and bury myself in a book. Gym got in the way, though; because it was my first day the coach excused me from the activity, which happened to be volleyball, and I spent a better part of the hour watching. Colin kept trying to come over and talk to me, only to be reprimanded at every turn. My mind kept flashing back to Biology, the way Simon's expression had flickered through those emotions so quickly. It was unnatural. Just thinking about him set my teeth on edge, and I couldn't place why.

The bell rang. Finally. Colin asked me to wait for him so he could walk me to my car, and as much as I wanted to refuse, it felt rude. He'd spent the whole class trying to show off and made a fool of himself in the process. Such effort deserved reward. He emerged from the locker room with a ridiculous grin on his face.

"How'd your first day go, Cass?"

Even though I'd insisted everyone call me that, it felt unnatural coming from him so casually, as if he'd known me more than three hours. "Good." For some reason the word 'awkward' wouldn't come out of my mouth.

"What was your favorite part?"

Watching you trip over a rogue volleyball and fall flat on your face. "I'm not sure yet, maybe I'll know tomorrow."

As we approached the parking lot people from my classes began waving to me. I waved back, wishing I wasn't walking with Colin, but tried to keep him from asking questions with my waving. The five Lawrences were ten feet in front of us, and I watched with little surprise as they approached the three vehicles I'd noticed this morning. Bethany the supermodel and Brandon the bodybuilder got into the Audi together; Wren and Josiah took the Porsche. Simon approached the Ducati. I stared openly as he climbed on, wearing a black leather jacket and a helmet the color of his hair. As he revved the engine, I could have sworn he gave me one last perplexed look before speeding off campus.


	3. Open Book

One more night of this rain and I'd probably collapse in the middle of school. Endless pounding on the roof above my bed was a terrible way to try to sleep; it wasn't even pounding, really, just a series of sharp little thuds that happened too quickly and randomly to get used to. It was like trying to fall asleep to the sounds of Chinese water torture. It made my nights restless and my days gloomy. The only thing that kept me in good spirits the next morning was the prospect of my nice, big, loud truck for the ten minute drive to school.

Because of the insistent pounding over my head, I woke up for good an hour earlier than I'd planned. This gave me time to actually do something with my impossible hair, like make it look presentable, and throw on clothes that sort of matched. As I examined myself in the mirror, I got the overall impression of 'good enough' and left it at that.

Dad was off at work again. I'd seen him briefly the evening before, for dinner and an hour of television. We weren't comfortable around each other quite yet. At best it would take us a week.

School ended up being exactly what I'd expected. There were less stares, less introductions, less whispering, and less general awkward. Except with Devon. That boy was absolutely impossible.

"Hi Cassandra!"

"Cass." I forced a smile in greeting.

"Oh. Right." His face fell, only to be brought right back up again. "How was yesterday?"

I shrugged, picked up a pencil and began doodling on a piece of paper. "Alright, I guess."

"You guess?"

One of my eyebrows raised speculatively at him. "Yeah. I guess."

As soon as I decided I'd taken my mild antagonism too far, he perked up and kept asking questions. "What wasn't so great about it?"

"You know, this and that."

"That's not very specific."

I sighed. Being rude to Devon on my second day in town probably wasn't going to get me off on the right foot. "There wasn't anything specific that went wrong, Devon, or anything specific that went right. It was just a day."

The bell rang, saving me from more awkward conversation. It could have been good, but something about that kid sets my teeth on edge. His greasy hair maybe, or the vacant look in his eyes when he looks at me. He's nice enough, I guess, and I don't know him well enough to judge, but he's so persistent. I'm hardly used to being here; new people on top of that is just too much right now.

Mr. Martin began his lesson, breaking us into groups and leaving us to our own. My group consisted of Devon and another boy named Jackson. We were supposed to be re-reading the short story together and discussing symbolism, but because I'd read it last year, I spent the session doodling. Jackson didn't care. Devon kept trying in vain to include me. I answered his questions shortly and absently, making Jackson snicker with my understated sarcasm, which continued to go over Devon's head. By the end of the hour I had almost no sympathy for the kid.

Second hour Precalc was nap-worthy. I'd always been decent at math, but it was never a compelling subject for me. As it turned out, Valerie had that class with me, and we spent the lecture passing notes. I asked her about Simon. He'd been floating around in my head since yesterday, and while I was normally pretty good at figuring people out, he was an anomaly. His strange but compelling appearance, the subtle tension in him and his silence.

_He kept looking at you in Bio,_ Valerie wrote. What? He had? I could have sworn it was the other way around. I told her so, and was met with this response: _It was funny to watch. You looked at each other alternately; when you weren't looking, he was_. Except for that one time when our eyes met. Jesus, it was such an odd moment. I changed the subject on the note, but my mind kept reeling.

Sophie walked with me from Spanish to lunch. Her chattering was endless; it was as if she was trying to fill me in on all the gossip of the two and a half years I'd missed at Forks High School. I smiled and nodded obligingly, putting on expressions of shock and disgust at all the right moments. She was encouraged and didn't stop until we'd been at the table for five minutes, when she broke mid-sentence.

"Simon Lawrence is staring at you, Cass."

I turned to look at the table where he sat with his family. They were speaking quietly to each other, all except Simon, who was, as Sophie said, staring at me. A smirk touched the corners of his pale mouth, but his eyes were frustrated as they met mine. I held his gaze across the room. Sophie's eyes darted between us, always lingering on Simon before checking to see if I was still staring.

"Um, Cass?"

"Mm?" I grunted my acknowledgement, determined not to lose this.

"What are you doing?"

That was a great question. What was I doing? Having a staring contest with a boy I'd never spoken to, but was obviously curious about me for some reason. "Defying expectations." I replied quietly. Now what had made me say that?

"I see..." She said, and turned to another conversation.

Eventually I got frustrated with him. He hadn't even blinked as far as I could tell. As much as I hated giving up, I had to drop his gaze. From the corner of my eye I saw him turn away, a gesture that looked satisfied for some reason. This set my teeth on edge, and when I entered Biology with Valerie I was relieved to see that his seat was empty. It would be filled momentarily, of course, but it gave me a minute or so of peace.

I tried to look busy by doodling. It was an obsession of mine; I drew intricate designs in the margins of every sheet of paper given to me. I'd gotten rather good at it, if I do say so myself, and it had become a habit. My teachers back in Phoenix hated it, and it wouldn't be long before these ones did as well.

"Cassie Reed, right?"

I jumped. The words were low and quiet, as if he'd said them under his breath. It was Simon, of course. I looked up at him and quickly away. "You scared me." He hadn't made a sound when he sat down.

"I noticed."

"How long have you been there?" Not like it mattered if he saw my doodles.

He shrugged; a quick, casual gesture that looked out of place for some reason. "A minute, maybe. Two." I scooted my chair slightly away. It was really hard to talk to him when he was looming like that, those blue eyes boring into me. "You didn't answer my question, though."

"Question? Oh, right." Why was I so flustered? "Yes. I'm Cassandra Reed. You're Simon Lawrence."

He smiled, folding his hands beneath his chin, eyes twinkling. "The same." I blinked at him for a moment before returning to my margin molesting. Our odd staring incident at lunch was forefront in my mind, but it didn't seem appropriate to bring it up right now. Or bring anything up. While I was certainly curious about this weirdly attractive stranger, I was quite content not talking to him. I've always been more an observer than anything; I could learn more by watching him than talking to him.

Obviously, he was not of the same opinion. "How do you like Forks?"

"I don't." Evasive bluntness hadn't worked with Devon, but straight bluntness might work for this one.

"Oh?" It was an indication to continue, which I ignored. "Why are you here then?"

"Because I wanted to spend a year with my father." True to an extent, and simple enough to prevent further questions. But something I had yet to learn about Simon was that he always had another question.

"What about your mother?"

"What about my mother?"

"Why don't you want to live with her anymore?"

I looked up at him from my nearly-filled margin. "That's not really your business, you know."

He smirked. "Yes, I do. But I'm still curious."

There was something odd in the way he spoke. It was lilting, verging on musical. His pronunciation didn't have the same harsh, casual air as that of an American teenager. Every syllable was enunciated carefully; practiced, refined. He sounded like he'd just returned from a month in the UK and hadn't quite shaken off their accent.

I pursed my lips. "I have no reason to tell you about my family."

Our eyes were locked again. He seemed to be trying to push me with them, as if staring at me long enough would make me speak. Finally, just as the bell rang, he smiled, revealing perfectly straight white teeth, and turned away. "Fair enough." He muttered, resuming his pose of attentiveness. I watched him for another moment before returning to my drawing. Something about the conversation had frustrated me, and I couldn't put my finger on what it was. Maybe his inexplicable curiosity, or the questions he'd asked. Everyone else wanted to know what Phoenix was like; he wanted to know what made me leave it.

I made a point of not looking at him. Part of me was afraid he'd look back; those dark eyes threw me off. I'd never seen such a color. The rims of his irises were black, but lightened as they reached his pupils. It was like staring into an ocean, or maybe a night sky as it approached dawn. We kept our heads bent over the worksheet. I finished it quickly and immediately attacked the margins with my pen. From the corner of my eye I could see him sitting there, stone still, staring vacantly at the board. The bell rang, and he was once again out of his seat and through the door before anyone else had even realized class was over.

What a weird guy.

Colin greeted me as I gathered my stuff. I smiled back, and the interrogation began. "What did you think of the worksheet?"

I shrugged. "Easy."

He looked crestfallen. "Really?" A girl who'd missed the first half of the unit shouldn't know what's going on. "I couldn't figure it out at all."

"I've done this before."

"Oh." He floundered for a subject. "How'd you get Simon to talk to you?"

My head snapped up. "What?"

"Simon never talks to anyone."

Right. That. "I don't know, he felt like introducing himself, I guess." And sticking his nose in my business.

Simon's newfound social activity must have been rarer than I'd originally thought; on the way to gym, kids from my Biology class were giving me odd looks and whispering to their friends. Was this really that big of a deal? Were the Lawrences so closed off that a short, insignificant conversation like that caused this much of a stir?

Gym was tolerable. I didn't die playing volleyball, and it was easier for Colin to focus when I was on his team. At this point I recognized most of the students and their names were beginning to stick. By this time next week, I'd probably be able to give their middle names, too. The curse of small-town life. Colin walked with me to the parking lot again, giving me a full description the volleyball game I'd been there for. The rain had finally abated, and I looked gratefully at the still-clouded sky, a smile touching my lips. Tonight, I may just get some sleep.

It took me a moment to realize that Colin had stopped talking and that the voice in my ear certainly was not his. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" Simon had fallen in step on the right side of me. He held his worn riding jacket loosely at his side and kept his left hand in his pocket.

I nodded absently and returned my attention to the sidewalk. "It's not raining." I said. As far as Forks went, this was immaculate weather.

He laughed under his breath. "And is that good enough for you?"

"I'll take what I can get."

Colin had drifted off to his car without so much as a goodbye; this tall, pale, red-haired recluse obviously intimidated him. I didn't blame him. Simon was still grinning impishly as he approached his motorcycle. "See you at lunch tomorrow, Cassie." I watched again as he slipped the jacket over his shoulders and picked his helmet off his seat. Every motion was fluid, as if the series of movements required to put on his gear and get on the motorcycle were really just one. I watched again with envy as that motorcycle rode away, trying not to compare it to my bulky truck.

When I got home I found Dad lounging in front of the TV. "You're home early."

He shrugged. "Frank and Connor are coming over to watch the game."

I should have known this was coming. Dad and Frank shoved me and Connor together every summer. Sure, they had excuses; they were best friends, it only made sense for them to want their children to be close as well. Fishing trips for the parents turned into pushing each other off the boat. Football games on television led to locking each other in the hall closet. Connor had been one of the constants of my summers in Forks, along with Dad and the house. He was about a year younger than me, with dark skin, eyes, and hair, due to his Quillayute Indian heritage. The hair hadn't been cut in ten years and was longer than mine. I teased him about it mercilessly.

As far as I was concerned, he had no redeeming qualities. He was impulsive and ridiculous. He never thought before he spoke, and he was forever coming up with wild stories and legends, expecting me to believe them. He also had absolutely no sense of danger. I have more stories about that particular trait than I care to mention. With a solid three months a year together for sixteen years, Connor was essentially my little brother, no matter how much taller than me he was. Even with our less-than-romantic relationship, we had a theory that Frank and Henry wanted us to get married. They always gave us that weird knowing smile when we were together, and it set my teeth on edge more than Connor himself.

There was a rapid, impatient knock on the door. Speak of the devil. I rolled my eyes, tossed my keys on the counter, and opened the front door.

Connor stared down at me for a half second in shock. Obviously, news of my arrival had been kept from him. I smirked. "Connie." He absolutely hated that nickname, fitting as it was.

His returning grin was vicious. "Sandy." And I hated that one. I rolled my eyes and stood back to let him and Frank in. Frank smiled at me, his lined face curving like a tree trunk.

"How's our Cassandra doing?"

"Fine." I shrugged. Considering the circumstances, life was pretty good.

Connor grinned. "The rain hasn't melted her yet."

"Yet." I replied, resisting the urge to stick my tongue out at him. Frank didn't hesitate to go into the living room and watch the game with Dad. Connor and I were left alone in the kitchen. For the first time in the three days since I'd arrived, I felt truly relaxed. Connor might be a complete pain in the neck, but he was the only person I knew here who I was comfortable around. A symptom of a lifetime relationship, I suppose.

He hadn't stopped grinning like an idiot at me. "So Cass, what brings you back here in the middle of winter?"

I made a face. "Mom remarried." His mouth formed a solid 'oh.' "He's nice and all, but he travels a lot to play ball, and if I'm with Mom she can't go with him."

"So she kicked you out?"

I scoffed. "No, I kicked myself out."

Connor nodded, throwing himself casually into a chair. "I guess that makes sense. So you came up to spend some quality time with dear old dad?"

"Yup."

He glanced into the living room where our fathers were eagerly watching the game. "And they didn't tell me." He looked back at me. "The old man told me I had a surprise waiting here. Honestly, I was hoping for something better, but I guess you'll have to do." This time I did not resist the urge to stick my tongue out. He snickered. "Aw, come on, I'm just teasing."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, sure."

"So what do you think of grand ol' Forks High School?"

"It's absolutely miniscule." He laughed. "Everyone's nice, I guess. Hey, do you know Simon Lawrence?"

His face froze mid-chuckle and turned to ice. "I know of him. Why, is he bothering you?" his tone implied that Simon was the kind of guy who would bother the new girl at school.

I shook my head. "Not bothering, really. But he keeps talking to me."

Connor smiled, but his expression was guarded now. "And of course having someone speak to you makes them weird."

"Not the point."

He shrugged and relaxed a bit. "The Lawrence's are a weird bunch. The doctor's nice and all, but his kids don't do much outside of themselves."

"I've gotten that much."

"What else is there?"

I stared at him, unable to say what I wanted to communicate. I don't know what else there is, but there's something. Their unnatural beauty, their reserve, their grace. Something about them wasn't right. Why Connor would know what is beyond me; he goes to school on the reservation, probably hasn't seen the reclusive family together more than once or twice. But I was running out of people to ask besides Simon himself.

When I didn't respond, he picked a new topic. "So, how do you like the truck?" His smirk clearly told me that he thought I'd gotten the worse end of the deal.

"It's a car, and I didn't have to pay for it. I'm not complaining."

"You will be when you try to drive fast."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "What happens if I try to drive fast?"

"Just don't try to hit sixty."

I sighed. It was nearly impossible to get a straight answer out of him. Of course it didn't stop me from trying, but our conversation collapsed into bickering and petty insults. We'd been playing this game for years. After the game ended, Frank and Connor said their goodbyes and headed home. Dad threw together a quick dinner and I did my homework. While we were washing dishes, I asked him about the Lawrence family.

"Doctor Lawrence is a good man." He said it with a defensive tone, as if people had argued with him about this before.

I nodded in agreement. "I've never met him, but they must be good people to take in all those kids."

"Never give me any trouble. They're good in school, they mind their own business, and they follow the rules. That's more than I can say about most kids around here."

"Do people not like them, or something?"

Dad grimaced. "People around here don't like newcomers, and while the doctor and his family aren't the most social group, there's nothing wrong with them that I can tell. Old prejudices run deep, Cass, and people don't like letting go of them."

Prejudices? This kept getting weirder. Just the name Lawrence had put Connor on guard, and now Forks was prejudiced against a bunch of well-behaved, attractive white people?

There was so much more to this than met the eye. And while there was certainly plenty to look at, I had to know more. My mind was reeling with unanswered questions when I went to sleep, and I was so distracted by my thoughts that I forgot to let the rain keep me awake.

* * *

I went to my third day of school fairly well-rested. My life has been graced with dreamless sleep, and now that I was finally used to the rain, sleep was possible. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that it stopped raining at about eleven. But I prefer to think I adjusted to meet the weather, not the other way around.

Devon hadn't given up on me yet. We sat at a table in the back of the room with Jackson, pretending to annotate the short story. "So Cass, how do you like Forks?"

"About as much as I always have." Not much.

"You've been here before?"

He couldn't put two and two together, could he? I knew that he knew about my family situation; my mom running out on my dad had provided a good chunk of gossip for this small town seventeen years ago. Was he so dense to think I'd never been back to visit? "I visit my dad here every summer."

"Oh?" He looked appropriately shocked. "Since when?"

"Birth."

Devon blinked while Jackson snickered. "I've never seen you."

I shrugged, picking up the short story and jotting a note in the margins. "I spent the time with my dad."

He ran out of questions at that point and changed the subject back to English. Maybe, just maybe, I'd be able to shake him by the end of the week.

People were beginning to relax around me and go back to their normal order of things. I was grateful, to say the least; I'd been expecting much more of a fuss, but I either overestimated myself or underestimated my classmates. They didn't stop talking when I was near, they didn't notice every move I made, and they were almost done staring. Except Simon. He simply wouldn't let up.

Sophie was jealous already. Simon's obvious interest in me baffled her. I couldn't blame her, really; she was prettier, with her smooth blond hair, a good figure and a nice face. She had none of the sharp angles that dominated my body. Not to mention her bubbly personality. But while she was superior to me in looks and social interaction, Simon watched me from across the room. Sophie pursed her lips anytime she noticed it. I tried not to look back, but every time I turned to the conversation I could feel him staring at me, as if he were trying to read me just by how I ate my lunch.

I wished he'd stop. Things were settling down nicely, and he was stirring them up with his curiosity. His attention was disconcerting, and if I chose to see it that way, creepy. Maybe it just freaked me out that someone returned my interest. Or maybe he was a prowling serial killer and I was his next target.

At one point during the lunch hour I made the mistake of looking out the window as a distraction from Simon. I immediately groaned and looked away.

"What is it, Cass?" Colin jumped at the chance to engage me in conversation, and I managed to pretend I was rolling my eyes at the weather.

"It's snowing." I said. Snow. Awful stuff; like rain, except it doesn't go away, and is colder.

Everyone turned to look now. There were cries of delight and groans similar to mine. Sophie was almost jumping out of her seat with excitement. "Oh, I love snow!" I grimaced in disgust at the subject change. Why did I say anything?

Colin looked at me, still grinning. "Don't you like snow, Cass?"

I shook my head vehemently "Nope."

He looked disappointed and was sidetracked by Sophie, who had begun plans for a major snowball fight. I looked despairingly at Valerie. She looked down and shook her head slowly; obviously, her opinion was similar to mine. We stayed close on the way to Biology, looking around furtively in case of a snowball attack.

Simon was already in his seat. He was lounged back, sort of; relaxed compared to the last two days but still straight-backed and stiff. He glanced up at me briefly as I sat down then continued to stare vacantly at the board. I watched the door tensely. Colin had yet to enter, and I had an unreasonable fear that he was going to pelt me with a snowball in the middle of class.

A smooth laugh floated over me, and I turned to see Simon chuckling. "What on earth are you doing, Cassie?"

"Preparing to defend myself." My eyes flashed from him to the door.

His dark eyes seemed to dance with mirth. "From what, exactly?"

"Colin."

He was trying to hold back laughter, I could tell. "And what is it about Colin, of all people, that poses a danger to you?"

He was infatuated with me, for one thing. "I don't trust him with all that snow."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"He recently developed an obsession with snowballs. Particularly throwing them at people. I don't like the idea of being target practice." He'd probably see it as a courting ritual or something.

Simon froze for a moment, looking for all the world like a greek statue. "You don't have to worry about that."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? And why not?"

He shrugged and rested an elbow on the desk. "I'd catch it if he had one."

"As encouraging as that is, I think I'll keep an eye out."

"Suit yourself." His lopsided, patronizing grin was nearly unbearable. I clenched my teeth and resumed watching the door. Colin walked in, thoroughly drenched in the head and shoulders by slush. Good. He'd been pelted with snowballs without my assistance, and he didn't have one left for me. Simon caught on to my relief and laughed at me again.

"What?" I asked, though I knew exactly what.

"Nothing." He said as the bell rang, a smile still playing about his lips.

I muttered to myself and sulked in my chair as the the teacher began the lesson. About five minutes in I lost focus and started doodling in my notebook. At this point I had dedicated a few pages in the back to the practice, and was almost done with one. Simon watched curiously from the corner of his eye. I snuck a look at him from time to time, and he hadn't moved a muscle. While everyone else felt the need to fidget, he was content to remain stone still.

"Why do you do that?" He asked, so quietly that I knew only I could hear him. He still hadn't moved, but his eyes were on my paper.

I shrugged. "It's something to do." My whisper sounded painfully loud compared to him, and I looked around to make sure no one else had heard.

"But why?" His tone was frustrated. He turned his head slightly to look at me, and I looked back.

"Why do you care?" I was just as frustrated with him as he was with me, it seemed.

His face tensed, and I saw another flicker of anger before he regained control. "Because I don't know what you're thinking."

"You're not supposed to."

A rueful smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "Usually I can tell what people are thinking," he explained as if to a child, "but with you, I can't."

"Good."

Those dark eyes flashed dangerously again. "What an impossible little girl." He mumbled to himself, but he wasn't quiet enough.

"Excuse me?" I basically screeched it. Whoops. The room became dreadfully silent and Ms. Fleming stared indignantly at me.

"Something you'd like to share with the class, Miss Reed?"

How I hate that phrase. "No, Ms. Fleming." I said sweetly through clenched teeth. "Nothing I'd like to share with the class." She gave me the evil teacher look, turned, and continued writing on the board. The class settled back into their side conversations and I glared openly at Simon.

"Impossible little girl?" I asked quietly.

He shrugged. "An exaggeration, perhaps."

"Oh, give me a break." I rededicated myself to my boxes and loops, throwing my extra energy into the sketch. What an ass.

"Am I annoying you?" I could hear the smirk in his voice. Obviously, he didn't care whether he was or not.

"Yes, actually, you are."

"What an amazing thing." He mused. I bit back the rude remark at my lips and forced myself to ignore him, but he would not relent. "You didn't answer my question."

"And you didn't answer mine."

"I asked first."

I glared at him. "If I answer, will you leave me alone?"

Ms. Fleming turned and stared at us meaningfully. We were obediently silent. That is, of course, until she turned back around.

"I'll think about it." He said, and I figured that was the best I could hope for.

I sighed. "I do this because it keeps me from fidgeting. I find it relaxing, and it lets me think uninterrupted."

"What do you think about?"

I clenched my teeth. "What happened to leaving me alone?"

He grinned. "I'm still thinking about it."

"Yeah, so am I."

There it was again. That flash of anger that made me think he was dangerous. But how could he be dangerous? He wasn't too much taller than six feet and he didn't look too strong. He was toned, but not muscular; between him and his brothers I'd never pick Simon for winning a fight. It was in his eyes, then; he looked competent, confident in whatever abilities he had. And for some reason, I was poking holes in that confidence. That provided enough satisfaction to lighten my mood.

With another look from Ms. Fleming, Simon prudently decided to stop pestering me. This time when the bell rang I was the first out of my seat and through the door. I felt only the slightest pang of regret about Colin, who undoubtedly wanted to walk to class with me again, but it wasn't nearly enough to make me turn back around.

He caught up to me in gym, however. "What was up in Biology today?"

I served the volleyball and tried to watch it while I answered. "Simon was pestering me, that's all."

"How?"

All these boys with their questions! "He just wouldn't leave me alone, is all."

"What did he say to make you freak out like that?"

I gave Colin a withering look that he really didn't deserve, but it made me feel better. "He was being rude. Don't worry, Colin, I've got it covered."

"You sure?" He dove just in time to hit the volleyball over the net.

Was he really offering to beat Simon up for me? Somehow the image of those two wrestling made me laugh, if only because I knew instinctively that Colin would lose. "Yeah, don't worry about me."

He looked unconvinced, but also relieved. "Whatever you say."

Good, he was learning. He walked me to the parking lot after class again, and as was now becoming a pattern, I ignored Colin to watch Simon and his motorcycle.

He winked at me as he rode away.


	4. Phenomenon

When I awoke the next morning, the snow/slush of yesterday had decided to take up permanent residence in the form of ice. I took no steps to hide my displeasure. I gave up entirely on my hair, put on my most comfortable sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie, and waddled cautiously out to my car. Though there didn't seem to be any ice on the steps, I had this nagging feeling that it was lurking right in front of me, waiting for me to drop my guard.

Because of how small our driveway was, I'd been condemned to parking on the street. This made my cautious walk longer. I paused to look at my truck; it didn't look right, and it took me a moment to figure out why. Dad had put chains on the tires before he left. I made a mental note to thank him later; as a desert city girl, I'd hardly ever seen snow, let alone driven in the stuff. Or on ice. Especially not on ice. Still, I drove carefully on my way to school, entirely willing to sacrifice five minutes of English for survival.

As it turned out, I was early. Early enough to see the Lawrence family parking their vehicles across the lot, at least. I clambered carefully out of my truck and hovered at the end of it, partially trying to find the best path across the ice-minefield parking lot and partially watching Simon slide gracefully off his motorcycle. He tugged his helmet off and ran a hand through his hair, and for a split second, our eyes met.

Either that brief contact caused a screeching in my brain, or something terrible was happening.

After that everything is an oddly clear blur. Simon's perfectly calm face became clouded with an expression of unspeakable horror as he looked at me, and my irrational, fleeting thought was that my hair looked way worse than it had twenty minutes ago.

Then I saw the van hurtling towards me. One thing became absolutely clear as it closed in: I'd be crushed between it and my truck. What a dreadful way to die, too. Probably slow, with lots of internal and external bleeding. Bruises everywhere. Bones pulverized to a fine powder. I shut my eyes and prepared myself for impact, wondering if I should crouch down so it would crush my head first and I could die quickly.

What struck me in the next second, however, was most definitely _not_ a minivan. With my eyelids still squeezed together, I felt a pair of steady arms about my waist pull me down and push me to the asphalt. A low curse in an unmistakable voice followed, punctuated by the sound of crunching, grating metal. Blood rushed from my heart to my brain and back, filling my ears with sound even after the world had gone deathly quiet.

There was a scream, the rushing of feet, the sound of my quick uneven breaths, and the steady inhale and exhale of my rescuer. I felt the hard, cold surface beneath me, and cool breathing on my neck. I opened my eyes, terrified that this was the afterlife. But what I saw above me was the underside of my truck; Simon's scarlet hair over my shoulder, his pale arms clutching my waist. I couldn't move, partially in shock and partially because Simon was so damn strong.

"Are you all right?" He asked, his voice quiet and tense.

"Yeah." If you can consider nearly being crushed to bits between two hunks of metal 'all right.' "How did you get over here?" He'd been by his motorcycle, two rows away, a split second before the accident.

I felt him tense around me. "I was right here, Cassie."

Even in my state of shock I managed to look angry. "Don't lie to me."

"Please." He whispered. His voice was absolutely smoldering. While I knew he was doing his best to plead, to coax me with that tone, his manipulation worked.

"You owe me an explanation."

"Fine." He snapped, quite the switch from his compelling act only a moment before. I would have said something rude in response, but I suddenly felt nauseated, and opening my mouth felt like a bad idea.

In the chaos that followed, emergency was called, the van was moved, and I failed at regaining my composure. Faces fluttered in and out of my vision, worried and upset. I hardly saw them. Simon pulled me off the ground and led me carefully to the ambulance. I looked around and saw his siblings watching with disapproval. Simon handed me off to a nurse and promptly disappeared from sight. I could hear his voice, though; calm, steady, quiet. He was talking to someone, probably explaining what happened.

"Are you all right?" This time the question came from the nurse, all business.

"I'm fine."

I was drug through the ritualistic once-over to make sure I wasn't lying. "Did you hit your head?" Because since the rest of me was obviously fine, my brain was damaged.

"No." I said. The last thing I need was everyone to think I'd lost brain cells.

"Actually, nurse, I think that she did." Simon had appeared behind her, his face guarded and speculative. "You might want to check for a concussion."

I gave him a withering look. He nodded coldly as the nurse began _that _examination.

They decided it was necessary to take us to the hospital. Well, _me _to the hospital. Simon talked his way out of being taken to see a doctor, but came along to keep me company. What a gentleman.

I was led by Simon and a nurse into one of those wonderful sterile rooms. She left to go get the doctor and Simon waited with me.

"Care to give me that explanation now?" This had better be good.

He shook his head slowly. "You really should be thanking me, you know."

I stared at him blankly. Oh, right. He'd just saved my life. "Thanks." I hoped it sounded as sincere as I meant it. Because I did mean it; I just wasn't in the mood for florid gratification. "Now _how on Earth_ did you cross the parking lot in less than a second?"

His eyes turned to ice. "I was right next to you, Cassie."

I returned his look, knowing full well that I was not nearly as intimidating. "Don't lie to me."

For a split second his cold expression vanished and was replaced by curiosity, but then he composed himself. "Fine. I won't."

"Then tell me what happened."

"No."

I pursed my lips angrily. "I'll expose you." Even I knew how bad of a bluff that was.

His eyebrows raised in amusement. "Really? Expose me as what? And, as a side note, who would believe you? You've hit your head, remember?"

A fair number of not-very-nice words jumped to my lips, but my cursing was interrupted by the door opening.

The man who entered stunned me into silence. I immediately remembered that Simon's father was a doctor, our best surgeon. He was every bit as beautiful as his foster children; older, certainly, but no one in their right mind would have placed him over the age of twenty seven. Twenty two seemed more appropriate. He was tall, taller than Simon, with brown hair and dark grey eyes. His face was different from his son's; he had a longer, more pointed nose and a wider, fuller mouth; his eyes looked caring and cautious instead of brooding and calm. He smiled widely at me, and I stopped breathing.

Simon stood to greet his father and introduced me. "Father, this is Cassandra Reed, the police chief's daughter. Cassie, meet Oberon Lawrence, my adoptive father."

I reached out cautiously and shook his hand. "Pleasure." I mumbled, mind reeling. Okay, gorgeous adopted children I could understand. But incredibly young foster father of teenagers who was equally breathtaking? No. Something extremely strange was going on.

"Believe me, the pleasure is all mine." He also had a strange, measured pace to his speech, as if he were carefully covering up an accent with perfect pronunciation. Simon was staring intently at his father, reading his reaction to me. Dr. Lawrence looked at him for a moment; Simon nodded slightly and the doctor turned back to me.

He knew. I would get no answers from either one of them. Not yet, at least.

"So, Cassandra, I hear you hit your head."

"Cass." I corrected automatically. Simon smirked, but I ignored him. "And no, I did not hit my head, nor was I injured in any way. Thanks to your son." That was a nice touch.

He absently checked me over with cold hands, obviously going through the motions. "Yes, he's quite the fellow." He murmured. I scowled and looked back at Simon, who was still watching the doctor intently, as if these lame attempts to ensure my physical well-being were giving him vital information. Maybe _he'd _hit his head. "Well, Cassandra, you seem perfectly all right. I'd better go take a look at Devon now; he didn't look too good when they brought him in."

My jaw dropped. "That was _Devon _in the van?"

The doctor blinked at me. "Why, yes. It was."

I groaned. The doctor left with another meaningful look at his son. Simon's eyes were curious as he watched me. "Why does it matter who was driving the van?"

"It doesn't. It matters that it's Devon Baker."

"Why?"

"Because now he'll _never _leave me alone."

Simon looked at me for a second, then suddenly laughed.

"_What_?" He delighted in torturing me, didn't he?

"Nothing." But he was still chuckling. "I just don't understand you, is all."

Which is hysterical. "What's not to understand?"

He relaxed on his stool slightly. "Someone nearly hits you with a car, and you don't care, except that now you have to deal with their constant attentions to you. That's not _normal_, Cassie."

"When did I say I was normal?"

His eyes gleamed with mirth. "You didn't."

"Then stop whining."

"I'm not _whining_." Payback. "I'm pointing out a fact."

I rolled my eyes. "And of course _you _know what normal is."

"Yes, actually, I do."

I looked around the small room, my eyes eventually resting on the door. "Am I allowed to leave?"

"Yes. Your father is waiting for you."

"Shit." I slid off the table and reached for the handle. But Simon beat me to it, and held the door open for me. "Thanks." I muttered, turning down the hallway.

"The waiting room is to the left, Cassie."

I turned on my heel and walked past him again, this time in the right direction, refusing to respond. He watched me all the way down the hall. There was definitely something going on here, something Dr. Lawrence and his family were hiding. Unless he was secretly a plastic surgeon who had an obsession with beautiful children. That _might _explain their perfection. But then what about Simon's miraculous appearance at my side? And, I suddenly realized, that quick, unnatural grace they all shared? It certainly wasn't something _I_ learned in charm school.

My father greeted me calmly in the waiting room. "Anything broken?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

"Good." He hesitated. "You might want to call your mother when we get back."

"You told her?" I groaned as he nodded. "Great. She's probably buying me a ticket home." Even though she wasn't at home. She usually missed details like that.

As was expected, my mom was in hysterics. I had to spend ten minutes calming her down before a single coherent thought came out of her mouth. After that it was a matter of 'No, Mom, don't bring me home. I'm fine, I like it here, it was just an accident...' and the list goes on.

I was relieved from school for the day, thank god. Dad drove me back to get my truck, however, and I was shocked at how fast the cleanup had been. There were only a few trace bits of glass left, and my truck was almost entirely spotless. Well, besides the dents and scratches it had acquired before my ownership of it. There was one dent in the rear bumper where the van had struck; but as I looked closer, it started looking less like an impact site and more like a handprint. A handprint about the size of Simon's hand. As if he'd used the bumper for leverage to pull us beneath the truck to safety, and crushed the metal in the process.

I added 'incredible strength' to my mental list of abnormalities.

"Cass, what's wrong?" Dad was skeptical of my no-injuries claim, and glaring at my bumper likely wasn't improving his opinion of my sanity.

"Nothing." I quickly got in my truck and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. He looked dubious, but drove back to work without complaint. I sighed and started the engine. Maybe I was just being paranoid about all of this. But paranoia and delusions are not _that _related as far as mental diseases go, and I know what I saw. I saw Simon across the parking lot, horrified by my impending doom, and then he was here. Saving me.

* * *

**In case it has not been made clear enough, this is a rewrite. As in, I'm taking Twilight, and writing it the way I would have. The plot is largely the same to begin with, but believe me, there will be changes. Nice big fun ones.**

**-Goldfishing**


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